


Memoriam for a Prophet

by angelswatchingover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x09 coda, 9x09 spoilers, 9x10 coda, Angst, Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, Gen, Hunters Funeral
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelswatchingover/pseuds/angelswatchingover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Gadreel kills Kevin, Dean is left alone to provide the young prophet with a hunter's funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memoriam for a Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> After I saw the preview for 9x10 which included Dean giving Kevin a hunter's funeral all alone I had some major feels and just had to write about Dean's experience. Sorry for the pain.

“Kevin?” Dean calls the teen’s name, hoping against hope for an answer. There is no response, no movement.

“Kevin…” This time Dean feels the pull of resignation settling in his gut. He knows the prophet is gone. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at his lifeless charge. Even with his burned out eyes, Dean feels Kevin’s accusing stare telling him he did this. It’s all his fault. 

If only he had stood his ground and told Sam about the angel possessing him sooner. If only he had let Castiel stay. If only he had been honest and warned Kevin that there was an unknown angel in Sam. If only…

He leans his head back against the post and closes his eyes as he lets the tears fall… for Kevin for Sam for Cas. For every goddam person he has failed to save in this never ending war. 

The bunker is silent, the only sounds are his own ragged breaths. No Sam clicking away on his laptop, no Kevin grumbling over the tablets, no Cas happily enjoying a fucking burrito. 

He is alone. 

The weight of his solitude crushes him from all sides, stealing the breath from his lungs. The bunker, once his home, now feels like a prison. He is in isolation, caged in. The once welcoming walls that had meant home, family, security now feel like the chains of hell where he was left dangling, in pain, deserted, calling desperately for his brother. 

He sits on the cold bunker floor for a long time, maybe hours. Time works differently in hell. By the time he can bring himself to move, his legs are numb. He wishes everything could be so easily numbed. 

It dawns on him that he must take care of Kevin’s body. The kid deserves a hunter’s funeral.

He wills his body to move, crawling over to where Kevin lays. He reaches out his hand towards his friend’s face but hesitates, hovers over the boy, he can’t bring himself to feel Kevin’s cold skin. He bites his bottom lip… hard, until he tastes blood and spits out a litany of curses under his breath. Finally, he breathes a resigned sigh, removes his shirt and lays it over Kevin’s body, covering the teen’s face. 

He has to move, has to give Kevin a funeral. He gets up and heads towards the bunker exit to prepare the pyre. He’s never had to do this alone before. He’s always had Sam by his side to help collect the wood, set up the pyre, stand by his side. Sam… the angel said that there was no more Sam. That thought stops him dead half way up the stairs. He has to grab onto the railing, tight, while the breath is wrenched from his lungs. No, he decides, he can’t think about that now. This is Kevin’s time. He has to push through, carry on, and do what is right by the boy he has gotten killed.

Outside of the bunker, Dean heads into the forest. He remembers a clearing that he found one day while exploring these woods. He begins to collect wood, dragging armful after armful into the clearing. It’s hard work and after a few hours he is filthy. His arms are covered in cuts from the sharp sticks he has been carrying with no concern for his own comfort. His t-shirt is sweat-soaked, regardless of the cold December weather - he is on autopilot and can’t feel the pain or the chill. He moves and doesn’t stop. If he stops he will have to think… feel.

With the pyre built and doused with gasoline, he heads back to the bunker to retrieve Kevin’s body. But before he does that, he goes to the prophet’s room in search of anything the young man might want burned with him at his funeral. 

Kevin’s room is a mess. There are translations and notes pinned haphazardly on the walls, papers strewn everywhere and the angel tablet sitting squarely in the middle of his desk, surrounded by notebooks and pens. It’s hard to believe this is the room of an advanced placement teenager. 

Dean goes straight to the nightstand, looking for something, anything personal meaningful that he can honor Kevin with. He finds what he is looking for. Like Dean himself, Kevin has one important memento of life _before_. It is a picture of him and his mother. Dean reverently picks up the picture and says quietly, “Mrs. Tran, your son was one of the most amazing people I have ever met. He was thrust into this fucked up… sorry, messed up hunter’s life, something he never asked for. But he did what he had to and came through for us again and again. Hell, he even bested the King of freaking Hell... a couple of times. You should be really proud of the son you raised. I know I was.”

Back in the main room of the bunker, Dean leans over Kevin and tucks the photo into the teen’s front pocket. Then, he gently wraps his body in a pristine white sheet and carries him out of the bunker. It is a long walk, carrying a full grown man through the thick woods on already exhausted legs. Dean almost stumbles several times in the darkness of the night but keeps his balance, holding tight to his charge until he can lift the body onto the pyre he has built.

He stands alone with a lit torch in his hand staring at the pyre. He shouldn’t be the only one to mourn this boy. He wants to honor Kevin, to lament him properly, but who is there to attend? He has Crowley chained up in the bunker, but he knows the King of Hell is the last person Kevin would want here. Kevin’s girlfriend and mother have both been murdered. _I don’t have any friends_ , he remembers Kevin telling him. _That’s not true_ , Dean thought, _you have us, me and Sam_. And he had told Kevin that he was family when Kevin wanted to run. He should have let him go. People seem to be safer far away from Dean. The last thing that Kevin had said to Dean was that he always trusted him... and he always ended up screwed. Thinking about that is a punch to the gut.

Sam… Sam would want to be here. But Sam is… was… well, he isn’t ready to think about that. He wants to call Cas. Of course, Kevin and Cas weren’t exactly close but _he_ needs Cas, needs his friend’s strength and solid presence. But he can’t call Cas, the angel said he was off to prepare for war and with borrowed grace, Dean doesn’t even know if Cas would hear his prayer. 

He is again reminded of how completely and utterly alone he is.

When he finally dips the torch down and watches the wood catch the flame he instantly feels the rush of heat as the fire reaches upwards and consumes the body in its clutches. He takes a step back, entranced by the dancing flames.

He stands and waits. It is hours before the entire pyre is nothing but a pile of ashes.

And when the last ember flickers out he finally says goodbye to the young man he had come to love like a brother, thanks him for everything and prays that the kid is now reunited with his beloved mother. 

He walks back to the bunker with only one thing on his mind… vengeance.


End file.
